


Be Kind

by LadyDrace



Category: Aliens (1986), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, First Kiss, Flirting, M/M, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 08:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1598981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Returned to Earth after the mission to LV-426, Stiles and Derek grow closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Kind

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [only way to be sure](https://archiveofourown.org/works/779524) by [kellifer_fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellifer_fic/pseuds/kellifer_fic). 



> This is an unofficial sequel to [Only Way to be Sure](http://archiveofourown.org/works/779524) by [kellifer_fic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kellifer_fic/pseuds/kellifer_fic), posted with permission.
> 
> Written for my beautiful wife for her birthday. Love you, Steph. <3
> 
> Looked over by the lovely Jimmy. <3

They've been back for about a month when Stiles seeks him out. Derek just raises an eyebrow at him as he slinks into the gym at the marine compound, and Stiles shrugs in return. Civilians aren't generally allowed on the grounds, but Derek is pretty sure no one would tell Sheriff to leave his newly re-united son outside for so much as five minutes.

 

They stare at each other in silence for a long minute, the emptiness of the gym loud in their ears. “You look better,” Derek says finally, because he does. An unknown number of months of living on candy bars and field rations, followed by another two months of stasis, left Stiles thin as a rake, gaunt and pale. He's still thin, but some decent meals and possibly some sleep has put color in his cheeks and more spring in his step.

 

“It's good to be home,” is all Stiles says, and then goes back to calmly looking at Derek. Not sure how he's supposed to handle this awkward socializing, Derek eventually just goes back to his situps. Being a werewolf he doesn't strictly need it, but it calms his mind and keeps him from going stir crazy when he's Earth-bound.

 

A few minutes later Sheriff joins them, his hand clutching his son's shoulder, as if half expecting him to not be there, needing to feel that he's real.

 

“Hale,” he greets, and Derek nods at him.

 

“Sheriff.”

 

“I don't think I ever thanked you properly for saving my son.”

 

“I tried, Dad,” Stiles cuts in. “He said it was his job.”

 

Derek narrows his eyes at him, and gets only a grin in return.

 

Sheriff frowns. “That might be, but that doesn't mean I can't be thankful. Come to dinner tonight,” he says, and it's not a request. Derek gives him a long look before nodding.

 

“Of course, Sheriff.”

 

Stiles gives him a jaunty wave when they leave, and Derek sits for a long time on his mat, wondering what that was all about.

 

* * *

 

The meatloaf is good. Sheriff looks pleased when Derek has seconds, and downright beams when Stiles follows suit. It turns out Scott and Stiles discovered a shared love of video games and bad movies, and have pretty much been joined at the hip since immediately after touchdown. Thanks to their multiple play dates Derek has been kept informed on Stiles' condition, and he knows that eating normally hasn't been easy for him. Nothing has been easy for him, but frankly that's not surprising, considering his trauma.

 

“Beer?” Sheriff offers once the plates have been cleared away, and Derek accepts, because he doesn't know how else he's supposed to respond. Stiles grumbles half-heartedly when Sheriff denies him one, but accepts his soda with a small, grateful smile anyway. They watch baseball, and chat quietly for about half an hour before Stiles excuses himself and pads to his room on silent feet. Sheriff is tense and doesn't relax until the door is firmly closed behind him. He watches the game quietly for a while, and Derek waits, aware that he's gearing up for something.

 

“He used to talk, you know. Constantly. _Annoyingly._ ” Sheriff huffs out a quiet laugh. “Never could shut up about anything.”

 

Derek just watches and waits, because there's really nothing he can say to that. He's well aware that Stiles hasn't spoken much since he was found, but seeing as he has no basis for comparison, it hadn't registered as something unusual.

 

“Back then.... before...” Sheriff trails off, jaw clenching at the memory of bad times. “I had to sift through hours of chatter to find out what was important to him. These days... everything he says is important. He'll answer questions, but next to nothing comes out on his own steam.”

 

He turns to Derek, eyes flinty. “The only people he's talked about unprompted since coming home has been McCall, Martin... and you.”

 

“I see,” Derek says, though he's not sure he does.

 

Sheriff sighs and brushes a weary hand over his thinning hair. “Hale, you've already done me an incomparable favor by bringing him home, but... I'm about to ask you for one more.”

 

“Whatever you need.”

 

There's no hesitation. If Sheriff needs him, Derek is willing to help as much as he can. He likes him, and they're... well perhaps not friends, but at least comrades in arms, and that stuff _matters_ to Derek.

 

“Stiles is... he needs...” trailing off again with a frustrated sigh, Sheriff shakes his head before fixing his eyes on Derek again. “If Stiles comes to you for... anything. I'm asking you to... be kind to him.”

 

Derek nods sincerely. “Of course.” Stiles is young and currently somewhat broken, and Derek has seen enough grief in his life to know that sometimes it doesn't matter so much who you reach out to, only that you do. And if Stiles decides that Derek is the one he wants to seek guidance or comfort from, then Derek will do his best to be what Stiles needs.

 

Sheriff knows Derek's history, and they share a long, significant look before he nods and goes back to watching the game. Derek leaves shortly after that, and he sees the curtain twitch in Stiles' window as he walks to his car.

 

* * *

 

He can't say he's surprised when Stiles appears in the gym again two days later. Derek waits, but when Stiles doesn't say anything, he goes back to his exercising. After a little while Stiles picks out a rowing machine nearby and starts his own workout. He reaches his limit long before Derek does, but he doesn't leave, just sits and watches as the sweat cools on his skin. He leaves again without saying a word, and Derek catches himself thinking that if this is the kind of reaching out Stiles will do, then Derek might just be the right person for it.

 

It happens three more times before Stiles speaks, and when he finally does, his chosen topic makes Derek do a double take.

 

“You like movies?”

 

Derek blinks. “Sometimes.”

 

“There's a new horror flick at the Circle. Wanna go with me?”

 

Even if Derek had been busy, he probably would have accepted to honor his promise to Sheriff. But the whole squad is currently grounded while the bureaucrats sit around on their asses shuffling papers around to figure out who's gonna pay for the clusterfuck of LV-426, and he's _bored_.

 

“Sure,” he says. And that's that.

 

* * *

 

Three movie dates later he realizes with a start that that's what they are. _Dates_. Stiles jokes and smiles and touches him in a way that's casual while still obviously a request for intimacy, and Derek curses himself to hell and back for not seeing it before. Hero worship for someone who saves your life isn't uncommon, and Derek feels like an idiot for not even considering that this might happen. But he's in it now, and Sheriff's caution to _be kind to him_ blares through his head, and goddammit, he should have realized that _be kind_ meant _let him down gently_. Because of course Sheriff knows his son, knows what he fixates on, and probably saw this coming before even asking Derek over for dinner.

 

But another date goes by without Derek figuring out how to end things gently. Then another. And another. And somewhere along the way Derek admits to himself that he enjoys Stiles' company. He talks more now, chatters happily to Derek about books and games and his hopes for the future. Derek isn't much of a talker, but when he does speak, Stiles listens, hungrily soaking up every word, committing everything to memory and somehow getting under Derek's skin in the process.

 

* * *

 

“So. You're heading out.”

 

It's not a question, and Derek doesn't respond. There's no need. Stiles is once again where he's not supposed to be, slouched against a wall, watching the pre-launch prep. The pack greet him as they pass, Scott giving him a tight hug before he runs off to take care of his own responsibilities, but Derek just takes up position next to Stiles, keeping a watchful eye on the others.

 

Stiles fidgets next to him, and Derek waits, knowing that whatever he's going to say will come out eventually, when the silence becomes too much. Derek thinks this Stiles is closer to the one who left Earth for LV-426, bright-eyed and eager to taste the world, never still and never quiet. Judging from the hopeful smiles on Sheriff's face these days, Derek's theory holds.

 

“You won't forget me, right?” Stiles blurts, and Derek turns to stare at him, because Stiles might be many things, but forgettable is certainly not among them. His eyes are wide and very brown, and they fix on Derek's with a nervous intensity that makes Derek strain to capture every scrap of information he's offered, hoping that something in Stiles' movements or tone of voice will tell him what this is about. Because it's obviously important.

 

“I mean... you're a marine. And well, you know marines. A sweetheart in every port. Or is that sailors?” Stiles laughs nervously, and Derek only barely manages not to drop his jaw, because is Stiles really asking when Derek thinks he's asking?

 

Derek is torn, because on the one hand this would be the perfect opportunity to _be kind_. To tell Stiles that his amorous intentions towards Derek are pointless and most likely projected, and that he should give his heart to someone else. Someone more worthy. Someone less broken.

 

But the thought of Stiles talking to and smiling at and _touching_ someone else makes something ugly and selfish rear up in Derek suddenly, and he realizes with an unpleasant lurch in his gut that it's far too late for that. Derek is hooked, like a fish heading for the gutting knife, and while his face is calm from years of training, his insides – _his wolf_ – thrashes around, ready to throw itself on the blade.

 

It's been years since Derek wanted anything – any _one_ – for himself. He should fight this. It has unhealthy and damaged written all over it. But goddammit, he _wants_. As a marine and a commander he makes split-second decisions every day, sometimes with lives depending on the choices he makes, and with the information he has in front of him right now, there's only one thing he can think to do. He takes Stiles by the elbow and drags him, sputtering and grumbling, into the nearest empty office, slams the door control and waits just long enough for the door to slide shut behind them before he backs Stiles up against the wall and kisses him long and deep.

 

Stiles makes a confused noise, but then kisses back with all the wet and awkward enthusiasm of the teenager he is. But he's a terrifyingly fast learner, and it's barely a minute before he's mimicking Derek's precise nibbling and soft licks so well that Derek is the one feeling lightheaded and weak in the knees. They hold each other up, arms wound tight around neck and waist, and when they finally part they're both out of breath.

 

“No, I won't forget you,” Derek pants, and Stiles lets out something that's probably supposed to be a laugh but sounds more like a sob.

 

Derek carefully disengages, because he has barely a minute left before takeoff, but he does take one last moment to brush his knuckles across Stiles' cheek and take in his liquid eyes, wide open in pleased awe. Then Derek turns and leaves determinedly, or he knows he never will. He's half-way across the landing pad when Stiles emerges in the gateway behind him, skidding to a halt in a whirl of uncoordinated limbs. He steadies himself on the arch of the gate, and his glare is obvious even from twenty yards away.

 

“Derek Hale, you are an asshole!” he shouts, but his smile is blinding and Derek can't help but return it before he climbs inside the ship, shutting the hatch behind him for takeoff.

 

End.

 


End file.
